Didn’t the music department initiate us into the arts of life? Didn’t we learn the culinary arts from them, the music department? Of the meal, lovingly prepared. Of the ceremonies of communal eating.
The good things to life. Traditions of hospitality. Of which we knew barely anything! Which we’d forgotten since our distant childhoods.
The musicians always cheerful. With their jam sessions. With their folk nights. With their internationalism. With their mandolins. With their ouds.
We needed help, that’s what our musical friends knew. We needed to be shown the light.
We needed not to die for a while. We needed non-destruction. Non-suffocation. Non-death. Non-murder.
We needed a musical breather. Needed a musical timeout. A musical holiday.
But didn’t we sometimes scare them, our music friends? Couldn’t we be too dark for them, our music friends? Couldn’t we say things that frightened them, our music friends? Didn’t we have to make a positive effort to be chipper, with our music friends?
We didn’t want to scare our music friends. Didn’t want to perturb them, our music friends. Couldn’t we threaten to lose them in some doom philosophy spiral? In some deadly philosophical vortex?
Work in Progress 